THE DISABLED EX-WIFE’S RETURN

CHAPTER FIVE:KARA

THREE YEARS LATER:

The second the Fairmont Grand doors part, the smell of wine and champagne and the sounds of clinking glasses and the chatter of Seattle’s elite takes over my senses.

A small smile playing on my lips, I turn to nod at the security guards, and then I step through the doors.

It has been three years since I was in this city, and now, I’m back.

But if there’s one thing I didn’t miss, it’s the amount of pretense and fakeness that the elite wear like a second skin.

It’s practically a part of them.

My eyes survey the room carefully, slowly, until I find who I’m looking for. He spots me at the same time.

Elijah Bennett’s eyes widen when they meet mine, and as he approaches me, I reach for a champagne flute from a passing server’s tray, raising the flute to my lips to take a small sip.

“Mrs. Sterling,” his voice booms as he comes to a stop in front of me. “How wonderful it is to finally meet you.”

“Mr. Bennett,” I replied, reaching my hand out to him.

He’s a fairly handsome man, and the moment he takes my hand in his, I see the tiny mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

“Please, call me Elijah,” he says in a flirtatious tone as he raises my hand, bending slightly to press a light kiss to the back of my palm. “You’re even more stunning in person, Mrs. Sterling.”

I hum, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Thank you for inviting us to this event.”

He waves it off exaggeratedly. “Oh, please. I should be grateful to be graced by your gorgeous presence.” His eyes rake over my form from my head to my toes, an approving smirk on his lips and a flash of lust in his eyes.

Typical.

I open my mouth to caution him. To remind him that I’m already taken, but before I can, I feel a familiar hand graze my waist. A shiver runs down my spine the moment I inhale the smell of sandalwood and musk.

My husband, Roman Sterling, places his firm hand on my lower back. “Hello, Darling,” his smooth, deep voice rumbles. “Sorry I’m so late.”

And then he presses a kiss to the top of my head.

I bite the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to swallow. Swallowing would mean that I’m nervous, and I can’t risk Elijah Bennett—or anyone else—noticing that something is off.

I should’ve been used to it by now. Used to being Roman Sterling’s legal wife.

But pretending to be someone’s wife is not as easy as it seems. And even after three years, his presence still makes me feel uneasy

.

“Mr. Sterling,” Elijah greets. If I wasn’t watching him closely, I wouldn’t notice the way Elijah’s smirk falls slightly before he picks it up again. “How nice of you to finally join us. I trust your flight back was smooth?”

A dark chuckle rumbles in Roman’s throat. “That’s a question you could’ve asked my wife, but you were too busy ogling her to ask the important questions.” His grip tightens possessively around my waist as he pulls me toward him slightly.

So now, our bodies are touching.

“Weren’t you, Elijah?” Roman’s voice is cold and his tone sharp.

I clear my throat in an attempt to cover my smile. The expression on Elijah’s face is priceless. He stumbles and stutters, short of words to say as his face starts to turn red with embarrassment.

“How is your wife, by the way? I hear she’s in the hospital.”

I turn my head to glance at Roman, but his green orbs are only directed at the uncomfortable man standing in front of us.

Elijah’s eyes dart away, looking everywhere except at Roman and me. “Yes, yes. She’s battling cancer. Tragic, that one.”

“Yes,” Roman muses. “Tragic.”

Elijah clears his throat sharply. “Well, it’s been lovely meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Sterling. The event is about to start. I have to get up the stage.”

I raise my glass to my lips again just as Roman says, “Of course, Elijah. Happy to be here on behalf of my father.”

Elijah bows his head slightly. “Welcome back to Seattle, then. I hope you’re here to stay.”

My breath hitches as Roman starts to draw lazy circles on the exposed skin of my waist with his thumb.

Damn it. I knew this dress was the wrong choice.

“Oh, trust me, Elijah. I’m not leaving Seattle anytime soon.”

It’s only after Elijah turns around and walks away that Roman’s warm hand leaves my waist.

I spin to face him, tilting my head unquestioningly at him. “You’re late,” I say, arching my brow.

He looks away from me for a second to grab a glass of whiskey from a passing tray, and when he looks back at me, there’s nothing in his eyes.

No emotion, no giveaway. Nothing.

Just like always.

He shrugs. “I had some unfinished business to take care of.”

I know he won’t answer me, but that doesn’t stop me from asking, “What business?”

“None of your concern, Kara.” He takes a sip of his whiskey, his eyes slowly raking up and down my body, and for the first time this night, I see a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

My insides melt. Hell, yes. I knew this dress was the right choice.

But all the warmth freezes when he speaks. “Why the hell are you dressed like a slut?”

My mouth pops open as I turn around to make sure no one heard what he just said. And then I leaned in, whispering harshly. “Why don’t you take a damn mic and announce it, so everyone knows how much you hate your wife?”

Roman smirks. “And embarrass myself and our company? I don’t think so.”

Roman and I have an… interesting relationship. Before my spinal surgery, he didn’t like me, and after the surgery, it was as if that dislike gradually transformed into hatred.

Roman is good at pretending. Damn good. In public, he can play the part of the endearing, possessive husband. But in private?

I’m losing my mind, but I am used to it by now.

I had to force myself to get used to it. Now that we’re back in Seattle, we’re going to be making a lot more public appearances, especially since I’m no longer Roman Sterling’s secret wife.

After tonight, the entire country will know who I am. And I am too elated about that to let Roman’s vile words deter me.

“I know I’m not dressed like a slut, Roman,” I say, looking down at my dress. It’s a red-colored dress with a thigh-high slit and small openings on either side of my waist.

But I am far from being dressed like a slut.

“You’re just pissed because…”

My voice trails off when something comes into focus.

Not something. Someone.

Someone who I haven’t seen in three years. Someone who had shattered me into pieces and tossed me away.

The same person I came back to Seattle for.

“Noah Hawthorne,” Roman muttered, raising his glass to his lips and downing the entire content. “There he is.”

The tempo of my heartbeat increases, pounding loudly in my ears despite how noisy the hall already is. Hot, red anger slowly rises from the bottom of my stomach to my chest, and I don’t even realize how tight my grip is around the stem of the glass until Roman gently snatches it from my hand.

“Easy, tiger,” he muses, amusement lacing his tone as he smirks. “You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

My eyes snap up to his, and I roll them at him. “Can we just find somewhere to sit?”

Roman offers me his arm, and I hold onto it as he leads me deeper into the hall. “I thought you’d never ask.”